Obsessed Heart
by Demasiado Piola
Summary: And meanwhile another nation was expressing his or her ideas about certain matters, he would occasionally glance towards him, admiring every single detail, every single movement; being always aware of not being discovered.


**Obsessed Heart**

It had turned into a routine by now. He was very self-conscious of what he did when he first started doing it, but now it was something that, sincerely, couldn't be helped. Every single time he arrived to one of those long and suffocating World Meetings, his eyes would unconsciously search for that person in question. He would make sure that_ he_ had come and then take a seat along with the others, in the same exact spot as always. And meanwhile another nation was expressing his or her ideas about certain matters, he would occasionally glance towards him, admiring every single detail, every single movement; being always aware of not being discovered.

He had been doing this the last couple of decades. He wasn't sure when did this little admiration towards this particular country started, but before he could even stop himself, he had been staring, and since then he decided to just _not stop._ When alone he laughed and was usually freaked out by his behavior, labeling himself as some kind of "sick stalker", but he still wouldn't stop his little staring game. He found it extremely relaxing, helping him to calm himself down when things got a little out of hand in meetings, having even a better effect in calming his nerves than a cup of tea. And that's a lot to say.

There was also the fact that Spain was a very nice sight to see, at least in his criteria. The mere fact of anyone finding this out was one of his biggest fears too. He was the representation of England for God's sake! It would kill his reputation if anyone found out about his little "crush" on said country of passion. He was supposed to hate Spain, be his rival. You don't fall in love with your rival!

But yet, he wasn't rightfully in love with the airhead brunette. The Spaniard had always caused complicated emotions in him, since their pirate days. Being the strongest emotion of all, and still present in him sometimes, envy. He was envious of him, envious of what he had.

He had always envied the other's lovely warm climate. The other's sun-kissed skin, and joyful nature; the Spaniard's permanent smile and never fading good mood.

While he had the depressing never stopping rain, the annoying cold winds. The dark clouds; the shy and weak sun. He hated his pale, almost transparent skin, his dependence on tea to fight the cold weather.

He envied Spain's social nature too, the talent to make friends and chat with strangers totally innate in him. Envied also the fact that Spain had friends (even if they were the wine-bastard of France and the stupid egocentric non-existent nation of Prussia) while he had no one.

Envied in their pirate days how the cheerful idiot was more powerful than him, how he had managed to gain more colonies for himself.

England knew he came to hate the Spaniard to death at some point, wanting to just see him fall. And he succeeded. He destroyed his Invincible Armada, left him in ruins, stole from him, and helped the Spaniard's colonies to get their independence from his Spanish grasp. But he was never satisfied.

He never felt truly satisfied, even when he had the other miserably tied and beaten, locked in his ship's cells. Because no matter what he did, the other never stopped smiling, never stopped seeing the good side of things, even in complete misery.

He envied him for that too, because he knew that him in the other's place would've been completely broken, destroyed to no repair.

He used to hate him, indeed, envying the other's luck for centuries. He was never sure when his feelings did the extremely drastic turn, changing from envy to adoration. The theory he normally liked to play along with was the calming of atmosphere between the two. The change he had from pirate to gentleman.

And the fact that there was no need to keep on fighting, not during the times they were going through right now. The country of Spain was no longer a strong rival for England; there was no need to compare himself with the Spaniard.

England didn't feel threatened by Spain anymore, he felt at ease and was finally able to look at the other without the accusing eyes of envy. But when he thought this chapter was finally coming to an end, a new emotion started rising in his core.

He hated how close the Spaniard was with Italy Romano, with the disgusting French frog, with the annoying Prussian. Before he even knew it, he found himself feeling jealousy.

But, why? Why was he jealous?

It's not as if they had a relationship before, they weren't even friends. Then, why so jealous?

Not even himself knew the answer to this question, he just thought that maybe, he could finally be friends with the other nation, the one that had been filling his thoughts for centuries (even if half of the time it was for plotting ways to humiliate the Spaniard). His pride and well-hidden shyness stopped him from trying to form some kind of friendship with the brunette, to talk to him. They would occasionally talk, a small exchange of words concerning the next meeting or the weather, but nothing more.

It frustrated him. His heart wanted to be more than just a fellow country that used to be his enemy! And yet again, he couldn't even get near him to start a conversation, as the few times they had exchanged words, it had been the Spaniard the one to say something first.

So he contented himself with just admiring him from afar. To watch that beautiful white smile so characteristic of him, to memorize each movement he did, to admire those beautiful green eyes, that even though they both had the exact same shade of green, the Spaniard's were shinier and much more alive than his own. To watch him walk around the conference room, and casually blush when setting his eyes on the other's perfect backside. The damn tomato bastard was attractive.

In a way he knew the main reason why he felt attracted to the Spaniard was because he knew the Hispanic country was absolutely out of his grasp. The brunette would never see him with other eyes; England knew he still held a grudge towards him thanks to the sinking of his armada and the little problem concerning Gibraltar. They were never entirely in good terms, he knew the other was nice with him only out of respect. Spain was totally a challenge for him.

But yet again, this little crush on the Spaniard frustrated him too much, this one-sided love, the platonic feeling he felt, sometimes it was too much to handle. And England tried; tried to get closer, to talk, to start over again…

But he would always fail, never really getting the guts to say something; never being able to succeed into showing the other that his intentions were honest, that he wanted to be friends… and maybe something more.

The World Meeting kept going on, and England found himself staring at the Spaniard yet again, as always. He was decided; he wanted to take a step forward. He had been talking with his magical creatures lately, finally getting out of the denial he'd been living in for the last couple of years. He had a kind of obsessive crush with the other, and wanted to do something about it.

For the first time in years he actually paid _any_ attention at all at what Germany was talking about in the meeting, or the stupid ideas America had suggested, gaining some concerned glances from everyone in the room. England _never_ lost a chance to snap at the American…

When the meeting ended, he found himself shaking slightly, out of excitement or just plain nerves, he didn't know. He went over and over again what was he going to do; he wanted everything to be perfect. He just wanted to start a conversation with the Spaniard, make clear the fact that he wanted to be friends (he had to start from somewhere). Then why was he so nervous? He just wanted to talk, be nice… Curse his inexperience when it comes to social relations!

- "Hey, England! It's something wrong with you? You were extremely quiet in the meeting! Unless that you finally realized that my ideas are just plain awesome! Ha ha!"

The annoying voice of a certain American got England out of his thoughts. The moment he heard that voice, England felt his blood boil, his anger rising. The American blonde had that effect on him.

"Shut up git! I'd rather sleep with the idiotic wine-bastard than think that your ideas are half decent!"

"Ha! You're just saying that because you'll never be able to come out with such amazing ideas as mine! Admit it England, you're just jealous of this awesome talent I have!"

The rest of the nations in the room felt everything going back to normal, not listening to those two fighting in a meeting was horribly disturbing, something un-natural to say the least. England's quiet behavior in the meeting was quickly forgotten when he started fighting with America as normal, nations finally relaxed when everything went back to their natural order…. except for one of them.

A certain nation watched with amusement the scene that was unfolding in front of him, a small grin plastered on his face. The country of love had always found the cold and serious England to be extremely interesting, even when they were supposed to be rivals. He had noticed, indeed, what was probably wrong with said island nation, having a self-proclaimed sixth sense when it came to these matters, the ones concerning the heart.

He had been puzzled during the last decades as to why the British man kept on glancing towards his good friend _l'Espagne_, as him and his Prussian friend normally sat down together during meetings. He had shrugged it off as just part of their rivalry, not paying much attention to it. But today, something completely different happened. England hadn't just glanced casually towards said country of passion, but stared directly towards him during the whole meeting, not even paying attention to what Germany had said, nor snapping at America, not even making a sarcastic comment when he had to expose his lovely ideas.

France's grin grew even more when realization of what had happened during the meeting hit him. Poor anti-social and insecure _l'Angleterre_ had fallen for bubbly, outgoing and clueless_ l'Espagne_. This was just too good, specially concerning the fact that his Spaniard friend was as clueless as a one year old boy when it came to what was going on around him, and the fact that the British self-proclaimed gentleman had the social skills of a dead rat.

"It seems that the country of _amour_ will have to do something about it, _oui._"

…

Why was he so stupid again?

He couldn't believe it! He had been planning for days what he was going to do today, for everything to be just_ perfect _but the idiotic America had to challenge him to get into a verbal fight _as always_, making him forget what he was going to do in the first place!

England sighed heavily, as he looked around the conference room. They were still some nations chatting and collecting their stuff, but the one nation he was looking for was no-where to be seen.

"Me and my pathetic luck…"

He closed his eyes and sighed once again. He'll just have to wait for the next World Meeting… which it'll probably be in a couple of months.

Great, just _great_.

He was going to collect his stuff when a certain hand positioned itself on his shoulder. He turned around in a heartbeat, knowing exactly who was the owner of said hand. His eyebrows met into his characteristic frown as he found himself staring directly into two horribly familiar blue eyes.

"Disgusting French frog, what do you want?"

A suspicious grin was immediately drawn on the French man's face, making England feel extremely uneasy. He never liked that expression of France; it usually meant bad news for him, or an ass grope. Neither were nice things…

"Oh, nothing _mon ami_. I was just curious… I'm actually really worried about your quiet behavior in the meeting, _l'Angleterre_, are you sick?"

His tone of voice reeked with sarcasm and mockery, making England's frown deepen even more. He didn't like the direction where this conversation was going, and by the way the wine-bastard was looking at him, it was screaming danger.

He had to get away from there…

" That's absolutely none of your business, you frog! And what's the matter with me being quiet? "

"It's just so unlike you, that's all. But, oh well, I suppose you were just too distracted to pay attention to anything said in the meeting today, non?"

England felt his heart miss a beat. What? What did the wine bastard just say? He swallowed audibly, trying to hide his obvious nervousness and panic. The frog couldn't have seen him…could he?

"I-I was just too focused in my own papers and research, if that's what you mean wine-breath… plus it's not like something important was said today anyway."

If it were physically possible France's grin would've grown even more. He had England right in the middle of his hand. He couldn't help but giggle mentally at how pathetic the British man's attempts to hide his real feelings and intentions were. He was going to help of course, that's what he did_._ It was his job to attend the matters of _amour_ and to help in the creation of beautiful and young couples. Because, the _amour_ had to be spread and reach every single person in the world, even to disgusting and weird creatures such as England.

It was all in the sake of _amour_. That was his philosophy. Plus he wanted to help his Spanish friend too; the other was just too infatuated with the spoiled South part of Italy and in all honestly, he didn't like how Italy Romano treated his lovely bubbly _l'Espagne _at all. The tomato loving country needed someone who could treat him and care for him just like he deserved. And who knows, maybe cold serious _l'Angleterre_ had a nice side hidden somewhere…

Plus if any of them ended up heart-broken, then he'll just _have_ to help them move on in his _own_ way. It was part of his job, to repair broken hearts.

All for the sake of _amour;_ remember that…

That didn't mean he couldn't make fun of England for a while, of course.

"Focused on your own papers and research? _l'Angleterre_ you must be very talented then…"

England looked directly at France with a confused look. What did he mean by that? He eyed the French man once again, suspicious, debating whether to ask what in the bloody hell did he mean or just leave. His curiosity won over in the end, ignoring the uneasy sensation in his being.

"You annoying frog, what do you mean by that? Working on my research it's not a bloody talent you git! Anyone can do that, even that idiot of America!"

"Oh, but not anyone can be focused on their research and papers while staring directly at someone, non?"

And there it was. He had thrown the bomb without any warning. France's grin was almost demented, edging the absolute creepiness. He loved teasing England, loved leaving him completely defenseless and exposed. It was a little game they've been playing since ancient times. And even if he really had honest and good intentions to help him out, it was just a perfect chance to leave him completely exposed and weak. How could he resist?

England's face transformed the moment those words came out of the French man's lips. Out of all the people in the world, there were two persons that just _couldn't_ find out about his secret crush. One was America, and the other one was… well, the wine-bastard. He feared for them to know, because it was _obvious_ that they would tease him about it the twenty-four hours of the day until the moment they die…

And the moment one of them knew, the whole world would know a moment later.

England's expression was a mixture between nervousness, panic and embarrassment. He quickly put his characteristic mask on, hiding his turmoil of emotions through his default expression: anger.

He was about to reply with all the rage inside of him and all the swear words in his vocabulary, denying to death what France had just stated, when suddenly the French frog with a small giggle, patted his head and made a move to leave the room.

"_Mon dieu_, it's getting late! I must be going now! _Au revoir_!"

"H-hey! Wine-breath! W-where are you going?"

France looked back with a grin drawn on his face. He winked back at England and the last thing he heard coming from the frog's lips before disappearing from the room was:

"Don't you worry _mon chéri_, Big Brother has everything under control!"

And thus, England found himself completely alone in the conference room.

It had been a couple of minutes since the annoying French frog had left him in the now empty room, their short conversation invading his thoughts.

He was screwed. Everything he wanted to achieve had gone down hill. It was obvious that France was going to tell the Spaniard about England's staring during the meeting. It was obvious that France was also going to tell why England was staring in the first place.

It was obvious that after knowing that, Spain wouldn't be too willing into becoming his friend…or would he?

He sighed heavily. Why did he have such a horrible luck when it came to love or just plain human relations?

He had just finished collecting his stuff, not really in the mood to go back home. For what? To be completely alone as always?

He was so sick of being alone, of his rainy home with annoying cold weather. He closed his eyes, shaking his head sadly.

"_And to think I thought everything was going to go alright today…"_

The noise of a door opening caught his attention. He sighed annoyed, the stupid frog had probably come back to pester him about it again. It was so obvious it hurt.

He felt his usual frown appear in his face as the footsteps started getting nearer.

"Annoying wine-bastard, I told you I didn't sta-"

He wasn't able to continue as he found himself staring directly into two extremely familiar green eyes and a just too beautiful white smile.

-"Ah…I-I…forgive me, I thought you were France…"

The beautiful smile didn't fade; the Spaniard laughed making England's cheeks turn a lovely pink.

"Don't worry about it, it happens to me all the time!"

He let a small laugh leave his lips once again, as he brushed past England to where he was sited some minutes ago during the meeting, looking for something.

England just didn't know what to do. He was finally alone in the room, with the one person he wanted to talk to, unable to say a word. He felt his mouth turn dry and his palms getting sweaty.

"_Come on, just say something! Anything! How hard can that be?"_

He opened his mouth to say something but no words came out of it. He sighed frustrated, why was this so difficult to him? He raised his head, not noticing that he had been staring at the floor. He looked towards where the Spaniard was and couldn't help but blush at the sight of him.

"_Bloody hell, he's so attractive…"_

He noticed how the other man in the room was desperately looking for something between the chairs and under the table. What in the world…?

"…Ah, excuse me, Spain?"

"Si?"

Spain turned his attention towards him and he felt himself blush, probably looking as red as one of the tomatoes the Spaniard liked so much. He felt mesmerized by those livid green eyes that were staring directly into his own, almost forgetting what he was going to ask in the first place. He was the first one to look away, finding the designs of the carpet much more interesting to look at.

"A-are you looking for something in particular?"

"Oh, si si! In fact I am! Have you seen perhaps _Francia_'s coat? He said he left it somewhere over here but I just don't see it anywhere!"

The Spanish man made a frustrated sound, probably annoyed at the fact that said coat wasn't anywhere in the meeting room. England just blinked surprised. He was looking for France's coat?

"The wine-breath bastard sent you to pick up his coat for him?"

Spain nodded enthusiastically. Typical of the frog to send someone else to look for his stuff instead of him…but wait. The French bastard was _wearing_ his coat when he left the room, wasn't he? So why did he ask Spain to come and get it when he _had_ it?

A flashback of the familiar voice of France rang through his ears, remembering that last sentence that escaped his lips before leaving him alone…

"_Big Brother has everything under control!"_

A shy smile crept onto his face. That wine-bastard, he was behind all this right? He chuckled, even though he was annoying and just plain idiotic, the frog had his good side sometimes.

"What's so funny?"

Spain's accented voice made him look up immediately. Two confused and curious eyes were looking straight up at him, demanding an explanation.

"Uh n-nothing!.…I think the frog made a mistake. I've been here since the end of the meeting and I haven't seen his coat anywhere."

"Oh…I see. He must've placed it somewhere else perhaps?"

"Most probably, that sounds more like him."

The conversation died and for some reason the atmosphere became extremely tense. Spain remained where he was, not really sure what to do. He was still looking around the room with hopes of spotting the coat and getting out of there. England on the other hand was mentally slapping himself, feeling frustrated as he had no clue what to do to keep the conversation going on.

The papers and folders that where still in his hands (as he was arranging them before the Spaniard's appearance) started to slowly slip out, thanks to the fact that his palms had gotten incredibly sweaty because of his nerves. It was actually too late when he noticed that half of the papers had flown out of his grasp and were decorating the floor of the conference room rather nicely.

He felt himself turn a new shade of red, as he immediately knelt down to pick them up, cursing rather colorfully under his breath, obviously embarrassed.

Spain had turned his attention towards England the moment he heard the little mess, and smiled sympathetically when he saw how the British country tried to pick the papers up, failing miserably as he was too nervous and embarrassed to do it right.

Even though he didn't really feel that comfortable around the island nation, he felt the need to help him out, as he had nothing better to do as France's coat was absolutely nowhere to be seen. He walked slowly towards England and started to pick some of the papers up, quietly.

England didn't notice that the other man in the room was helping him out, too focused into recollecting his research papers scattered on the floor. He reached to grab one once again, when suddenly he felt a stinging pain on his head as he had apparently smacked into something or someone else, making him fall back on his butt.

"Bloody hell…"

He rubbed his head in pain, eyes closed.

"Aaah, _coño_!"

The familiar voice caught his attention as it sounded in pain too. He opened one eye, to peek at the Spaniard, finding him sitting on the floor right in front of him, rubbing the same spot that he had been rubbing seconds ago on his own head.

Apparently neither of them noticed the presence of the other getting nearer, as they were both too busy picking England's stuff up, until it was too late and smacked their heads together.

England felt his cheeks burn once again as he mumbled an apology and continued picking his stuff up. The Spaniard just stared at him curious. After a minute or so of recollecting his things, England noticed the other's gaze on him. Green met green once again, making the Brit's already burning cheeks turn redder.

"_Why is he looking at me like that?"_

The island nation felt his heart skip a beat when suddenly a frown appeared on the other's face. Was he mad at him? England found himself trembling slightly in fear. What if he's mad for smacking their heads together? What if he finally looses his chance with him…?

England's famous mask took over his face once again, frowning himself too. His bushy eyebrows, being more menacing and intimidating than the other man's, caused the Spaniard's frown to falter a bit.

"What are you looking at, git?"

The words came out of his mouth before he could do something about it. Too used to fight with the wine-bastard and the American idiot, being the only two nations he truly interacted with, caused him to be rude and snappy at other people regularly. He looked away embarrassed. He was such a disaster at being nice with others…

Spain's expression didn't change however, as he got closer to the other man, making England even more nervous, blushing up to his ears. The Spaniard didn't stop, until their faces where inches away, looking right into the Brit's eyes as if trying to see into him.

England's mind was being attacked by hundreds of thoughts at the same time; he could also feel the beat of his heart loud in his ears. His face was burning and suddenly it was difficult to breathe, as Spain's breath felt warm on his skin.

"_W-what does he want? Why is he staring at me like that?… why is he getting so close?... does he… does he like me?... maybe he wants to kiss…m-me? NO! Don't be ridiculous, that's impossible… but there's no other explanation! Ah! What do I do?... take the initiative o-or wait to see what he does? …"_

The sudden feeling of flesh against flesh took him out of his thoughts. It took him some seconds to realize that one of the Spaniard's hands was resting on his forehead, a thoughtful expression drawn on Spain's face.

…What the…?

Absolute silence took over the conference room, as England looked up to Spain with confusion written all over his face (and disappointment), while the Spanish man analyzed him with a very serious face, hand still on the other's forehead. After what felt like ages, Spain's hand was removed.

"Hmm…"

"W-what in the bloody hell was that?"

England's voice came out as a squeak, still too stunned and confused, trying to figure out what had the Spaniard just done. His face was still burning, and even though it wasn't as loud as before, he could still listen to his heart beating at an amazing speed.

"Weird, it seems that you aren't sick after all…"

"…I beg your pardon…?"

Spain moved some inches away from England, getting out of his personal space, with a confused and thoughtful face. He sighed frustrated.

"Well, you see… I thought that maybe you had a fever, _si_?

"…What? … Why in the world would you think that?"

It was the Spaniard's turn to blush this time, as he laughed nervously, obviously embarrassed at his mistake. He scratched the back of his head, characteristic goofy smile drawn on his face.

"…_Veamos_, you've been really quiet the whole day! I mean, I barely heard you speak in the meeting, which was weird as you are always screaming at _América_ or _Francia_! And now, I walk in, and your face's been horribly red the whole time! I-I honestly thought you were feverish! You looked just like a healthy _tomate!_"

England's mind was completely blank, trying to process all the information Spain was throwing at him. He…he thought he was sick?

He was checking his temperature, then? Because he had been blushing too much making the other think he had a fever?

…

"_Unbelievable…"_

Before he knew it, he started giggling, his body shaking uncontrollably as he covered his mouth with one hand. He knew it was some kind of a nervous laugh, a way to release the tension and somewhat frustration he had been feeling just some minutes ago.

The situation; the scene was just too funny. The Spaniard thinking the other was feverish because his face was red and the Brit getting all nervous and worked-out, thinking that maybe the other had gotten near to kiss him, not to check his temperature. A huge misunderstanding; thank God he didn't "take the initiative".

The British man's laughter grew a little louder, laughing at his own pathetic-ness and lousy luck, and in some measure at Spain's adorable obliviousness. His laughter got louder to the point he had to hold his sides as they started to hurt badly, tears rolling down his face.

The Spaniard at first didn't understand why the other one starting laughing, but couldn't help but laugh himself too after a while, being the Brit's laughter too contagious to resist. It was the first time he had ever seen or heard the other former pirate laugh like this, but for some strange reason, he found the sight extremely amusing and adorable.

He knew the other wasn't as bitter as he pretended to be and he finally had proof of it.

Some seconds passed, and their laughter started to fade slowly, both growing too tired and out of breath to keep on laughing. Spain still had that little goofy smile of his drawn on his face, feeling somewhat light headed thanks to the excessive laughter. His smile though, disappeared in an instant when he finally settled his eyes on the British gentleman in front of him, who was sobbing silently.

At some point during their laughing session, England found himself actually crying out of frustration and embarrassment rather than laughter. Why was destiny so bloody cruel with him?

The reason he had started laughing on the first place it wasn't because he found the situation humorous or because he had a great sense of humor, he was actually laughing at the fact that he was so pathetic that it was almost comical. The flow of emotions inside of him finally got to him, being kept inside for so long, hiding this crush and the frustration of being in a somewhat platonic love was just too much.

What pulled the trigger in the end was the fact that he had the man he loved right in front of him, only the two of them, and he just wasn't able to do something about it. That and also the fact that Spain was just too annoyingly oblivious.

England would never really admit it out loud, but under that tough, cold and indifferent exterior, he was extremely insecure, and almost shy when it came to social interaction.

All the effort he had done today to actually achieve something with Spain was just too much for his poor nerves to handle; too much for his inexperienced social skills…

Shy and warm arms made its way to hug the Brit's body, making him to abruptly snap out of his thoughts. He knew what that meant. Pity, the Spaniard was hugging him out of pity. He still had his pride, even though he'd never felt more embarrassed in his entire life. Without even looking up to the Spaniard, he pushed the other's arms away, breaking the hug, and with all the dignity he had left, wiped away the remaining tears of his eyes. Without saying a word he continued recollecting the last bit of papers that had fallen on the floor, completely ignoring the Spaniard.

Spain just remained silent, not really understanding what had just happened. He looked confused, trying to make eye contact with the Brit that kept on ignoring him. He felt himself frown though, when he saw the other's face turn red again. His incapacity of reading the atmosphere and understanding what others really felt always got him in awkward situations such as this one, specially when it came to Romano. He scratched his head. He was aware of the fact that the Brit had told him that he wasn't sick, but now that he really thought about it, there was no way that he was actually saying the truth.

It had been a while since the last time he had actually taken care of someone sick with fever, being his Latin American colonies the last ones he had actually nursed back to health whenever they got sick.

But it had been decades, centuries even since the last time he had taken care of any of his colonies. And Romano didn't go to him when he was sick anymore; it was usually Italy the one who took care of the grumpy Italian nowadays.

He kept on staring quietly at England who was still trying to recollect the remaining papers on the floor; as he tried to remember the symptoms his "babies" used to have whenever they got feverish. Their cheeks would get red of course, they would also get sweaty, and they usually either got into a bad mood or started crying thanks to the fact that they didn't feel all right at all. They also felt really warm to the touch, especially on their foreheads.

Well, England's cheeks were _really _red and you could totally tell he was sweating. He had been crying minutes ago too. Probably because he wasn't feeling well. But yet, he wasn't warm to the touch.

Well, maybe he was going to get sick soon! Or maybe it was some other kind of sickness?

He suddenly got worried. Maybe the other man and himself didn't have a very nice and pleasant past together, but during the last centuries he could tell the other was changed somehow and wasn't a bad man at all.

He couldn't leave a sick nation on his own! He was going to help him and make sure he was actually all right!

"_Mierda, it's obvious that he's sick! He's just in denial! I must do something!"_

Finally all the fallen papers where picked up off the floor, and England found himself sighing in relief. He could finally leave this damn room, embrace the privacy of his home and practically drown himself in alcohol, so the horrible memories of the disaster of the day he had just lived would all go away.

He was about to stand up when a certain tanned hand appeared right in front of his face. The Spaniard was standing in front of him, a lovely, sincere and gentle smile took over his features as he offered England his hand to help him stand up.

England felt himself get lost into the other's eyes, totally forgetting his embarrassment towards what just happened moments ago. He shyly took the other's hand, being lifted up by the Spanish man in one smooth move. He let go of the other's hand and started dusting himself off. He wasn't able to open his mouth to thank the other nation, as Spain as smoothly and quickly as he had done seconds ago, had lifted him up of the floor bridal style.

"W-WHAT DO YOU THING YOU'RE DOING YOU IDIOT! LET ME GO! NOW!"

All the blood in England's body was currently painting his face with an intense red color. The British man just couldn't believe what was really happening. Was this man making fun of him? He had embarrassed him to no end some minutes ago, and now this! Why was he so cruel? England's pride was one of his most famous characteristics, and even though his pride had been damaged some minutes ago, he just wasn't going to let his pride suffer anymore, not two times in a row!

What would the frog say if he saw him being carried bridal style by the Spaniard? What would America say? No! This was unbearable! He had to stop this! He wasn't going to be a laughing stock! He wasn't going to let the Spaniard mock him anymore!

He started struggling in the other's grasp, kicking the air and moving his arms desperately, as if his life depended on it! But no matter what he did, the other's hold was extremely strong. The Spanish man wasn't going to let him go any time soon.

"Stop moving around, _por favor_! I just want to help! If you keep on doing this you're going to get sicker! _Entiende_!"

It wasn't until he heard the other's desperate calls that he stopped right on his tracks. What? The other still thought that he was sick?

England's attempts to get free of the other's hold stopped abruptly, as he stared bewildered towards the other's face. Now that he had stopped his furious attacks towards the other man, he realized just how close they were, how their faces were mere inches apart. How the other hold him tightly but still gently as to not hurt him. And he finally relaxed, feeling once again hypnotized by the other's gaze, feeling almost touched when noticing the obvious worry in his supposed enemy's eyes.

They stayed in silence for a couple of seconds. Just staring at each other's eyes, until Spain's heavily accented voice spoke once again.

"I'm glad you understood! You shouldn't be wearing yourself too much; being sick isn't something you have to take so lightly! Don't worry; I'll help you out. I can't leave a fellow nation alone while being sick, now can I? I'll take you to my place and take care of you! And maybe cook some _paella _or something! What do you say? I know it may sound strange, being that we used to be enemies, but this are other t_iempos_, and well… "

And even though England noticed that Spain was talking to him, seeing as his mouth just kept on moving, talking fast and excitedly, he just wasn't listening to anything of what the Spaniard was really saying.

He had stopped listening to him right after the part he had mentioned that he was _going to take care of him _and _taking him to his place _and _maybe cook some paella._

The plain idea of being alone with the Spaniard, in his place and being taken care off by the Spanish man himself had absolutely taken over his attention, to the point that everything that was going on around him suddenly ceased to exist.

He just couldn't believe it. It just wasn't happening! He was so immersed in his own thoughts that he didn't really noticed that Spain had actually started walking out of the room, still talking nonsense about tomatoes and Romano, and still carrying England bridal style.

The British gentleman knew the other was going to find out he wasn't sick eventually. But the chance he had just been given was too good to reject.

A little white lie wouldn't hurt, right?

So, seeing as he had actually lost against his heart's desires, he let himself be carried around. He felt himself blush for the hundredth time, when in a little rush of courage he let his head rest against the other's chest, being slightly amused at the fact that the Spaniard didn't even flinched at the gesture, nor stopped talking about his lovely tomato field. A tired sigh escaped England's lips as he closed his eyes. His pride totally forgotten; he felt in paradise. Maybe being taken care off wasn't so bad after all. He was going to enjoy it, and take advantage of his fake sickness as much as he could.

A shy smile took over his features as finally something good had happened to him after all this years of waiting and hoping for something to happen between him and the Spaniard.

Maybe destiny wasn't as cruel with him as he thought.

* * *

**Edit: **I JUST DID SOME SMALL CORRECTIONS TO THIS STORY. Really small stuff, like correcting some of the French. Nothing really important.

**TO EVERYONE WHO ADDS THIS STORY TO "STORY ALERT", I JUST WANT TO SAY THAT THIS IS A ONE-SHOT. IT ENDS LIKE THIS, THERE'S NO CONTINUATION TO IT!...**Just so you know, I feel bad that people are actually waiting for this to be updated...it's not going to happen, sorry :c it's meant to be like this.

**English isn't my mother language. I am a SPANISH NATIVE SPEAKER**. So I'm sorry for any mistakes.

Spanish to English Translations:

- "Coño": It's usually used to exclaim something, it's similar to a "damn!", "shoot!", "fuck!"... you know what I mean.

- "Mierda": "Shit"

- "Veamos": "Let's see"

- "Entiende": "Understand"

- "Por favor": "Please"

- "Tiempos": "Times"

- "América": "America" (duh)

- "Francia": "France"

-"Si": "Yes"

French to English Translations:

- "L'Espagne": "Spain"

- "L'Angleterre": "England"

- "Mon Ami": "My friend"

- "Mon Chéri": "My dear"

Thanks for reading, love you guys! I always look forward to critiques as I want to improve on my English as much as I can!


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